


Take Me Home

by timetravelbypen



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Suicidal Thoughts, The Doctor is tired, got a bit darker than I was expecting there, it's brief but didn't want to not tag that, never met an em dash I didn't like, not necessarily in that order, the Doctor needs a hug and a nap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetravelbypen/pseuds/timetravelbypen
Summary: The Doctor was tired.This was weariness that went past bone deep, cutting to the quick of her hearts and soul. This was the kind of tired that made people lie down and simply never get back up again. Fortunately, the Doctor was also really bloody stubborn.And she had a feeling someone was waiting for her.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 47
Kudos: 104





	1. Lay Down Your Head

The Doctor was tired.

In all the lives she’d ever lived, all the lives she’d never known, she reckoned she’d never been as tired as she felt right now. This was weariness that went past bone deep, cutting to the quick of her hearts and soul. This was the kind of tired that made people lie down and simply never get back up again.

Fortunately, the Doctor was also really bloody stubborn.

Stubborn enough to spend weeks – months? – planning her escape from the Judoon moon prison. Stubborn enough to crawl through vents to get back her sonic. Stubborn enough to give them all a lecture over her shoulder.

Stubborn enough to always, always keep running.

She’d been so close, too – she made it all the way out, onto the moon’s craggy surface, where there was just barely enough air to breathe. She was reaching out her sonic to call the TARDIS – her ship really didn’t like being summoned like that, but, needs must – she was _so close_ –

That was when those Judoon goons had broken out the big guns.

It turned out that getting shot really bloody hurt. More than the wound itself – barely a graze, honestly, nothing Time Lord physiology couldn’t handle if she had enough time, which she didn’t, really, but who was keeping track – was the fact that it knocked the wind out of her sails, sent her sprawling into the dust and the rocks, all the adrenaline of her escape rushing out of her in one go. In all her planning, all through her days and weeks spent locked in her own head, she’d told herself that her escape would work. That if she could hang on for just one more burst of mad dash running, she could let herself rest.

Well, she’d had her mad dash, and she didn’t know if she had enough left in her for another one.

The Doctor had fallen from the path and into a little alcove in the rocks. If she stood up – if she could manage it – she’d be visible clear as day, but for the moment, she had a reprieve. The Judoon pursuing her couldn’t see her, but her options for continuing were limited. If she called the TARDIS, they would hear it. If she pushed herself up, they would find her.

Or, she thought, just for a moment, just for one tempting, terrible instant, she could simply not get up at all.

Maybe this was it. Maybe all her lives, all her luck, had finally run out. Maybe if she died on this dusty rock, she’d die for good this time. And wouldn’t that be a relief? An end to the lies, the questions she hadn’t known to ask, hadn’t known she needed to. Even as old as she was, even as much as she’d seen, these lies felt too big for her. Her own self was a mystery she didn’t even begin to understand how to unravel, and she’d had ages alone to think about nothing else. Days when she wasn’t sure which was worse – the silence, or the Master’s voice echoing in her head. Months where she’d desperately missed her fam, just as much as she was achingly, infinitely glad that they were far away and safe.

Her fam, who still probably thought she was dead.

Her fam, who would be right if she didn’t bloody well get up.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wincing against the pain in her side. She could feel herself knitting back together against the blast mark, very slowly, but it would have to do. Whatever else was true about herself, she was still the Doctor. She was not going to give up. Not now. Not ever. She shuffled her way onto her hands and knees, peering up over the rocks to where her captors searched for her.

And she reached out a shaking hand, sonic held aloft, and called her TARDIS to her.

Her ship materialized with its usual, beautiful creaking wheeze of a sound, a sound that was such a relief that it fueled her enough to get to her feet, to set her in motion towards it. And once she was running, she found it hard to stop, pitching herself forward and away from the shouts and the shots behind her, until finally she slammed up against wooden blue doors.

“Hi, old girl,” she said, brushing her fingers reverently across the panel of her ship. Her home. Her truest love in the universe. “Thanks for coming for me.”

The Judoon started shooting again, and the TARDIS doors flew inward, sending her stumbling inside and up the gangway.

“Shields,” she muttered, knowing the Judoon had got in once before and not eager to repeat the experience, “need the shields…”

The Doctor threw some switches, sent some gears turning, until her little police box was as secure as it could be and flying very, very far from where she’d been locked away.

“You know where to go,” she told her ship, sliding down against the console so that she could rest her head in her hands, so that she could give in to the pain radiating across her side for just a little while.

She was so very tired.

But she wasn’t allowed to sleep, not just yet.

She had a feeling that someone was waiting for her.

The TARDIS landed across the street from Yasmin Khan’s flat. It was dark outside, late at night, and the Doctor knew that her ship had landed her a little while after she’d sent her fam home from the burned remains of Gallifrey, but she wasn’t sure how long that little while was. The air was crisp and cold against her skin as she shuffled across the way and up the steps – colder than it had been the last time she’d been in Sheffield.

She just hoped that she wasn’t too late.

She reached up a hand to knock gently on the door of Yaz’ flat, but before she could the door was yanked open to reveal Yaz herself, sleep-rumpled, in pajamas under her usual leather jacket, a thousand emotions flitting across her face all in the space of seconds.

She was possibly the most beautiful thing the Doctor had ever seen.

“Hi,” she breathed, leaning against Yaz’ doorframe to hold herself up.

“No,” Yaz said, staring at her, shaking her head. “You can’t be – you’re dead. You died. You… this isn’t real.”

“S’real,” the Doctor said.

“I heard the TARDIS land, I thought… I thought I were going mad, but… how can you be here? How are you alive? If you’ve been alive all this time… it’s been almost a _year_ , did you know that?”

“No,” she said softly. She almost wanted to laugh – her with a time machine, and still she was always late, always running out of time. “Yaz… I’m so sorry…”

And then she pitched forward, the muscles holding her up against the doorframe suddenly deciding to mutiny. The Doctor let out a small groan, bracing herself to hit the floor, but Yaz caught her instead, pulling her inside.

“Doctor, what happened?” she asked, the anger that had been filling her voice just a moment ago gone in a flash. “Did someone – Doctor, you’ve been _shot_.”

“Just a little,” the Doctor admitted, eyes closed, head resting gently on Yaz’ shoulder. “M’fine. I’ll be fine. Just… tired.”

“No,” Yaz said, stumbling inside with her, dragging her over to the sofa and pulling her up onto it and into her arms. “No you don’t, Doctor, you can’t. I’ve spent a whole year mourning you, you can’t come back just to die on me now. Please…”

Something warm and wet splashed onto the Doctor’s cheek.

“Oh, Yaz… Yaz, don’t cry. I… I’m so sorry. I’ll explain… explain everything. And I will be all right. Time Lords-” or whatever it was she really was “-we’re hardy stuff. I’ll be all right.”

“I don’t believe you,” Yaz whispered.

“I promise, Yasmin Khan,” she said, turning her head from its place against Yaz’ knee to look up at her, meeting her tear-blurred brown eyes. “And I keep my promises.”

“You’d better,” Yaz said, offering her a watery smile, taking her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.

The Doctor closed her eyes again, safe and secure for the first time in so long. She let herself relax against Yaz’ sofa, against Yaz, the other woman’s heartbeat against her back a comforting reminder that she finally wasn’t alone. She felt Yaz shift against her, just slightly, until her arms were more securely around her, until she could reach up to brush her too-long hair back from her face.

The Doctor had met gods before. She’d fought gods, run from them, even been a god for a brief and confusing span of time. But she swore that there was nothing in this universe or the next as divine as the feeling of Yasmin Khan’s fingers running through her hair.

“Yaz?” she whispered, just before sleep finally dragged her down into the dark.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Thank you.”

She was so very tired. But she was finally somewhere safe, finally somewhere she could rest, finally near someone she could trust. The Doctor thought she felt Yaz’ lips brush gently against her forehead for just the briefest second, but before she could ask, before she could say another word, she drifted off to sleep, and for the first time in a long time, there was nothing haunting in her dreams.


	2. Seeking Solid Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the Doctor was back, just like that, with a blaster wound and a smile.
> 
> And Yaz has no idea what to do with that information.

Yasmin Khan spent the first hour waiting for the Doctor to die in her arms.

When that didn’t happen – when it seemed she had been telling the truth for once and all she needed was someplace safe to rest and heal – she let herself break down. The first sob slipped out of her before she even realized she was crying, the sound loud and shattered in the still dark of the room. The rest she did her best to catch, burying her tears in her elbow or pressing her fist to her teeth, although her cries and shudders seemed to do nothing at all to stir the woman now profoundly asleep in her lap.

The Doctor was alive. The Doctor was _here_ , and whole and real in ways Yaz hadn’t even allowed herself to dream about.

She had never been so furious in her entire life.

It had been nearly a year since the Cybermen. Since Gallifrey. Since she had tried to pull this glorious, impossible woman she loved in spite of all her better instincts away from her mission to save the universe and kill herself and had failed. Coming back home without her had been hell. She and Ryan and Graham had been marooned without their captain on a shore they’d once been so familiar with but could no longer see the way they had once had.

But she had just finally been figuring it out. To say she had gotten over the Doctor’s death would have been a bald-faced lie, but she was finally finding the space to cope around the massive black hole in her chest, the sucking whirlpool of grief and loneliness and uncertainty. She was finally realizing that “back to normal” was her forever now, and finally, just a little, starting to make peace with that.

And now the Doctor was back, just like that, stumbling into her flat with a blaster wound and a smile.

Thank god her family had gone on holiday this week. Thank god her universal sojourns – and her paralyzing grief upon her return – had left her without enough leave time to go with them.

She wasn’t entirely sure what to do now. Should she call Ryan and Graham? What would she even say to them, at three o’clock in the morning, that would make sense?

Was any of this even real?

She swiped at her eyes and nose with her sleeve, blinking and gasping for air in the dark, before daring to look down at the Doctor again. She was deeply asleep, her breathing strong and even, for all she looked a mess. She seemed thinner, the bones of her cheeks more prominent than when they’d last met – or was Yaz not remembering correctly anymore? Her hair was too long, tangled and unwashed; she’d lost her coat somewhere, and even in the dark she could see the circle of bloodstain across her blue rainbow-striped t-shirt. Gently, Yaz reached down as far as she could to tug up the hem of her shirt and inspect the damage. The Doctor had what looked like a palm-sized burn mark scored across her ribcage, with a lot of bruising turning the pale skin around it nasty shades of yellow and green. Painful, to be sure, but not immediately life-threatening.

She was – or at least would be – fine.

“Bloody hell, Doctor,” she breathed, reaching up to brush back the other woman’s blonde hair again. “I missed you so much.”

Several hours later, she woke to the sound of her phone alarm blaring loud enough to wake the dead from the other room. Sun was streaming in through the windows and she had a fantastic crick in her neck. The Doctor, it seemed, had not moved. And Yaz, if the phone alarm was to be believed, needed to be on shift in an hour and a half.

It took some quiet, creative swearing, but she was able to slide out from under the Doctor’s head and shoulders, feeling a bit like she had the one time her cousin’s cat had adopted her for the day and refused to move off her lap. At least this time, there weren’t any claws involved. Somehow, the Doctor stayed sound asleep through all that, and Yaz wondered if she ought to be worried about it. She didn’t know anything about Time Lords. Had no way of finding out. If something was really wrong, she couldn’t even take her to hospital, not without exposing a lot more than the Doctor would want her to.

She didn’t know how to do this.

She didn’t know how to deal with the Doctor passed out on her couch. Didn’t know how to get her help if she needed it. Didn’t know the answers to all the questions her reappearance had raised – what the hell had happened to her? What had happened to her home? Why had it taken her so long to reappear when _she had a goddamn time machine_? And what was supposed to happen now? Were they going to, what, pick up where they’d left off? Was Yaz supposed to throw her life to the winds all over again and start travelling the universe with her again? (The answer to that question was, she knew – in the same instinctive way that she knew the sky on Earth was blue, knew her own name – was _yes_ , even if it probably shouldn’t have been.)

What she did know was that in order to get through the next week, she had to go to work. If she missed another shift she’d get fired. And going to work meant a shower (which she skipped) and clean clothes (which she took care of). She stopped trying so hard to stay quiet in the hopes that her clattering around would wake the Doctor long enough to tell her to _stay put_ until she came back, but no such luck. She did empty out her medicine cabinet to find some burn cream and her largest adhesive bandage, very gently seeing to the wound on the Doctor’s side, which had shrunk just a bit more during the night. She left out some clean clothes, scribbled a note about where she’d gone, and headed for the door.

Before she left, she turned, staring at the blonde hair tufting over the top of her sofa pillows. And for a moment, she almost let herself throw her whole life out the window for the opportunity to stay and watch her sleep and make _sure_ she was safe.

She really, really didn’t know how to do this.

So Yaz squared her shoulders and took a deep breath and stepped out of her flat and locked the door behind her. One step at a time. One hour at a time. She could do one hour at a time. She could do anything for an hour, really. And then the hour after that.

And then she was going to get some answers. Because no matter what else happened, the Doctor owed her that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Chapter two for you here - thanks for all your kind words on the last chapter! 
> 
> (Is vacation time and PTO as shitty in the UK as it is here in the US? This I do not know, but please bear with me.) 
> 
> Obviously this one's much more in the angst section but there is fluff ahead, fear not! Thanks so much for reading!


	3. You Were Written in the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor tried and failed not to let her mind wander. Not to think too much. Not to think about how desperately she did not want to – could not bear to be – alone anymore, and how she knew that she couldn’t ask Yaz to go with her again, or Ryan, or Graham.
> 
> She’d disrupted all their lives once. She didn’t want to do it again. All this time, and all she ever wanted was someone to share the universe with, someone to keep her company as she roamed. And every time, all she did in return was run roughshod over their lives, and she somehow never ever learned her lesson.

The Doctor woke up feeling like she’d been hit by half a Dalek fleet.

“Yaz?” she muttered, her voice cracked and thick with sleep. But no Yaz answered.

Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself upright, rubbing at her eyes and shoving her hair out of her face. The very air around her felt utterly still, and the flat was silent save for the creaking of the couch as she shifted. Without having to look round she knew Yaz wasn’t there. She knew she was all alone again. The Doctor forced herself to breathe, squinted up her eyes and rubbed the sleep from them with aching hands. How long had she been out?

On the coffee table in front of her sat a pile of neatly folded clothes and a note on a cheery yellow post-it:

_Hi._

_Had to go to work. Sorry. Can’t get fired._

_There’s snacks and tea and stuff. Bathroom’s down the hall on the left, you can use anything you like if you want a shower._

_I’ll bring dinner after my shift and we can talk._

_Please don’t leave before then?_

_Yaz_

Mmm. Shower. Hot water. That sounded nice. Good idea. Brilliant as always, Yasmin Khan.

And of course Yaz had had to go to work. She’d had to go back to her life, all these months the Doctor had left her. They all would’ve had to, ’course they had. So there was no excuse for that sinking feeling in her hearts at waking up alone. She’d been granted a place to rest and she would be grateful for that.

She pushed herself to her feet, grabbing the clothes Yaz had left out for her – fuzzy pajamas dotted with little pink owls, which Doctor loved instantly – and shuffled off to the bathroom. She wasn’t sure if she was mortified or touched to find that Yaz had bandaged her up and she had slept right through it; that blaster had really taken more out of her than she had expected. But then, she hadn’t been in tip-top shape at the start.

She turned the shower on so hot it scraped at her skin. The water peeled off the bandage Yaz had so gently applied to reveal a few scratches and some bruises in colors that would be hilarious if they didn’t hurt so much. She attacked every inch of her body with soap, desperate to wash away the last few months, trying and failing not to use too much of Yaz’ coconut shampoo (another thing she’d have to apologize for), trying and failing not to let her mind wander. Not to think too much. Not to think about how desperately she did not want to – could not bear to be – alone anymore, and how she knew that she couldn’t ask Yaz to go with her again, or Ryan, or Graham.

She’d disrupted all their lives once. She didn’t want to do it again. All this time, and all she ever wanted was someone to share the universe with, someone to keep her company as she roamed. And every time, all she did in return was run roughshod over their lives, and she somehow never ever learned her lesson.

Finally clean, finally with the smell and the taste of the Judoon prison out of her mouth, she toweled off, wrapping herself in owl print pajamas, looking down at her dirt- and blood-stained clothes on the floor. For half an instant, she almost took off with the lot of it back to the TARDIS. And maybe she should’ve done. Would it be better if she left now? Would it be better if she stopped imposing on Yaz any more than she already had?

No. She had promised an explanation the night before. At least, she was pretty sure she had. And she kept her promises.

Fortunately, it seemed that luck was, at last, on her side, and she didn’t have long to wait. She’d just finished bundling her filthy clothes up to wash later when the key scratched in the lock and the door swung open, revealing a very apprehensive Yaz holding a takeaway bag and a box of – bless her – custard creams.

“Doctor?” she called, her eyes darting around the front room as though looking for something to jump out and attack her.

“’M’here, Yaz,” the Doctor said, stepping carefully into view, doing her best to hold herself straight and nonchalant, the way she would if her body wasn’t aching and her hearts not clenched with worry.

“So I didn’t dream the whole thing,” Yaz said, shuffling from foot to foot. “You really are here.”

“Definitely not a dream,” the Doctor replied, offering up a little half-smile. She got a chance to look at Yaz then, really look at her, the way she hadn’t been able to last night in the dark. She looked like the Yaz she remembered, but tired, stretched thin; there were dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Her fault, all her fault.

“How’re you feeling?” Yaz asked, moving to shut the door and put her parcels down on the kitchen island.

“Fine,” the Doctor answered automatically, as breezily as she could manage.

“Doctor,” Yaz said, her voice firm and flat in a way the Doctor had never heard her speak before, “you came stumbling into my doorstep last night _with a gunshot wound_ and then slept so soundly for so many hours I couldn’t wake you before I left for work. You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me.”

“Sorry,” the Doctor mumbled. “Force of habit. I’m… better. Honestly.”

Before she could say another word, Yaz bolted forward and threw her arms around the Doctor’s neck. The Doctor stumbled backwards, almost falling, an _oof_ escaping her lungs. Probably should’ve mentioned that she was still a bit sore, but hugging Yaz was worth it.

“You great bloody idiot,” Yaz said into the fuzzy owls on her shoulder. “What the hell happened to you? If you weren’t dead, why didn’t you come back?”

“I tried to,” the Doctor murmured into Yaz’ hair. “Right after… after Gallifrey, I got back to my TARDIS, I was coming back for you, all of you, but I was… interrupted.”

“Interrupted how?” Yaz asked, pulling back and scrutinizing the Doctor’s face.

The Doctor opened her mouth, looked at Yaz’s expectant expression, and then closed it again, swallowing hard. There was so much. She had no idea how to begin.

“You promised me, Doctor,” Yaz reminded her. Her voice was insistent, but she let her hands slide down the Doctor’s flannel-clad arms to find her hands, giving them a comforting squeeze. Even after all this time, after all the secrets and silence, Yaz was on her side.

“That I did, Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor replied softly. “Only it’s… a very long story. And it’s… are you sure you want to know? When you and Ryan and Graham asked me who I was… I didn’t mean to lie to you.” She stopped, tried to breathe, forced herself to look Yaz in the eye. “But the Master was right, Yaz. There was so much I didn’t know.”

Yaz’ eyes widened at that. She tugged the Doctor down onto the sofa again, keeping their hands wrapped tight together.

“Tell me everything.”

And so she did. It was the abridged version – the full version would’ve taken several lifetimes to get through, and there was so much she still didn’t know, so much more she had no idea how to explain with words. But the Doctor told Yaz the whole story. The Judoon breaking into her TARDIS and abducting her into their jail. What the Master had found out on Gallifrey. What he had done to their people in retaliation. What their people had done to her, all those years and lives ago.

And once she started, it seemed as though the floodgates she’d held in place for so long had broken, and she found she couldn’t stop. She told her about the lives she remembered, the people she’d travelled with before she’d met her fam. All those faces, all those years of running and running, never stopping long enough to let the darkness catch up with her.

At least, not for long. Not if she could help it.

And Yaz listened through it all, never looking away, never letting go of her hand.

After what felt like hours, the Doctor finally, for perhaps the first time in her life, ran out of words. Except for a last few that really had to be said.

“Yaz, I… I’m so sorry. For leaving you the way I did. For not coming back sooner. If there had been another way to save you… I would’ve done it. You know that.” _I hope_ , she didn’t add.

Yaz nodded, quiet, taking in everything she’d heard. It was a lot; the Doctor lived with it all, all the time, and she wouldn’t have burdened Yaz with it, only she owed her the truth, and she was _so tired_ …

“Did you… do Ryan and Graham know I’m all right?” the Doctor asked, surprised when Yaz shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you were real. I was pretty convinced I’d come back from work and find that I’d just dreamed the whole thing. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure what this _meant_ , you being alive and coming back to me, and…”

She trailed off, looking away. She had started rubbing her thumb in circles across the back of the Doctor’s hand, and when she looked down at their hands and realized she was doing it, she pulled away. Her absence stung the Doctor’s fingers like ice.

“Doctor, I… have something I’d like to say to you,” she said, and the Doctor could see her steeling herself. _Oh, here it comes, you’ve earned this lecture right enough._ “I should’ve told you before you left us to… to go be a hero on Gallifrey. I should’ve told you before then, every day, all the time.”

The Doctor looked up from her hands in her lap, making herself meet Yaz’ warm brown eyes as she spoke.

“Doctor, I love you.”

_Oh._

Somehow, she hadn’t expected that. Somehow, she knew it was the only possible thing that Yaz could have said. But the weight of those precious words fell over her like a net, pinning her down, dragging her to recall all the times she’d been here before. She’d had to tell River goodbye, had to explain to Rose Tyler that she couldn’t spend her whole life with her even if she wanted to.

She’d tried so hard not to hurt Yaz, of all people, this way.

It seemed she could never quite avoid courting disaster.

“Oh, Yaz,” she breathed.

“I know it’s… I know you probably don’t feel the same way, but I just – I don’t want you to go off and try and get yourself killed again without my having told you-”

“Yaz,” the Doctor said, trying to cut into the other woman’s nervous ramble.

“-and I know you’re a thousand years old with all these lives you’ve lived and all these places you’ve seen and I’m only human and boring-”

“Yaz-”

“-but you’re just… the maddest, best, most brilliant person I’ve ever met, even though I’m still honestly a bit angry with you for leaving us, but you try so hard to save everyone all the time, and how could I-”

“Yaz!”

Yaz stopped, and the Doctor leaned in, her fingers feather-light against Yaz’ cheek, to kiss the questions from her lips. For a moment, Yaz stiffened in surprise, but only for a moment. Eager to seize her chance, Yaz melted into the kiss, one hand threading through the Doctor’s still-damp hair.

Kissing Yaz felt like sunshine. It felt like the first warm day of spring, when the smell of change was sharp in the air. It felt like safety and security and home, all the things the Doctor so desperately wanted to hold on to. All the things she knew would eventually slip through her fingers like sand.

“Oh,” Yaz echoed, very softly, when they finally broke apart.

“I’ve… wanted to do that for a while,” the Doctor confessed, twining their fingers together again.

“You have?” Yaz asked, her eyes round and surprised.

“Ages,” the Doctor replied, her breath half a laugh. “But I can’t—”

The weight of every goodbye she’d ever said clung to her aching body like lead, the sadness and regret and pain of each person she’d ever loved burned into the space behind her eyes. And then Yaz was brushing a tear off her cheek, gently taking her chin in her hand. Yaz, beautiful, brilliant Yaz, was looking at her with worry and wonder in equal measure.

“Yaz… the last thing I want to do is hurt you. And I will,” the Doctor said. “If I… if we do this. I won’t want to. But I will.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Yaz insisted. “You’d never.”

“Time, then,” the Doctor replied. “Time’s unequal. Unfair. I always run out.”

“Doctor,” Yaz said, her voice full of uncertainty, as though she wasn’t even sure of what question she wanted to ask first. “What… what happens now? What do you want to happen now?”

She couldn’t ask Yaz to come back with her, she couldn’t.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, the truest thing she could think to say. “I’ve been alone for far too long.”

Yaz reached up to kiss her again, soft and sweet and somehow sad, and when she pulled away again, she was crying.

“You’re not alone, Doctor,” she said. “Not while you have me.”

“Yeah?” the Doctor said, hope breaking her hearts.

“I said I wanted more time with you,” Yaz replied. “I meant it.”

The Doctor reached forward and wrapped Yaz in another tight hug (hugging Yasmin Khan: definitely worth a million points). There would be a lot still to talk about. Things to figure out. For the first time in a long time, she might have to _plan_ something. She had to find Ryan and Graham and repeat all her apologies. She had to know just how Yaz had put her life back together again, so she wouldn’t wreck it if she stepped too far in the wrong direction.

She had to eat her weight in custard creams.

But for now, for tonight, there was just her, and just Yaz, and all her secrets finally laid bare in front of someone brave enough not to run away. Someone brave enough to love her anyway. And if Yaz – brilliant Yaz, kind, wonderful Yaz – was brave enough to do that, then the Doctor would just have to be brave enough to love her back, without holding back.

The universe was so big, full of dangers and secrets and lies. The Doctor didn’t know if she could protect Yaz from that. She didn’t know if she could protect herself. But she did know that she could try.

And she did know that, at least for now, in the face of the yawning void of all the beautiful, terrible things the universe had in store, she didn’t have to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for this one, friends! I told you there'd be some fluff at the end. :) Thanks so much for reading - and commenters, you really brighten my day here in these uncertain lockdown times, so than you so, so much for that. I hope very much that you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Well this got a bit darker than I was expecting when I started writing it, but there's a little bit of fluff there for you, and more to come. I hope you like it!
> 
> This whole fic was written while listening to Sara Bareilles' "Orpheus" on repeat, and that's where I stole the chapter titles from. If you haven't heard it, I highly recommend it - a song about holding on to love in difficult times is certainly a nice thing right now. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you're staying safe and well!


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